An Impossible Pond in 221B
by Ohthatfangirl
Summary: 'I can assure you Ms Pond; I am certainly not a serial murderer.' Amy Pond falls into a different dimension and meets a certain consulting detective... Pre-reichenbach. Pre-Big Bang. Pondlock. Amy/Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1

**Oh well hello there! Yes, well Pondlock eh? I have shipped Pondlock for a while now and decided to write this after reading 'All the cracks in time' which you should all go and read because it's amazing. This chapter is written in two parts simply because it's when they first meet and I wanted to do their different point of views... the next chapters won't be like this... Please enjoy and review!**

_**Amy**_

Amy Pond let out a loud groan. Her eyes fluttered open and the first thing she became aware of was a sharp pain in the back of her head. Instinctively, her hand went up to where the pain was and came into contact with something sticky.

'Ouch!' Amy winced and pulled her hand back, the tips of her fingers coated in blood. Slowly she sat up.

_Where am I? Where are the Doctor and Rory? What happened? Since when has it been night?_

Were the first questions that ran through her mind. The back of her head was pounding furiously and she knew if she didn't do something soon, she would black out again. _Where the hell is Rory when you need him?_

Carefully, Amy managed to stand herself up, using the wall to keep herself balanced. So far as she could see, she was in an alleyway. But she couldn't remember how she got there!

After a few moments of trying to clear her head, Amy plucked her phone from her pocket and her eyes widened as the words 'No Signal' flashed on the screen... No signal?! But the Doctor had zapped her phone so that she never went out of range... ever.

Suddenly, she heard footfalls coming from the left hand side of her, she whizzed around to face the sound, instantly regretting moving so fast as it made her head spin dizzily.

A man in a hoodie was walking towards her, a huge smirk on his face.

'Hello darlin'!' his cockney accent crooned 'Got lost did ya?'

Part of Amy's brain vaguely registered the fact that she must be in London because of his accent but the rest of her was screaming for her to run. She felt like she was in a really bad film; an innocent, injured girl, walking down a dark alley when she gets cornered by a hooded man and...

Then she started to run. Or at least, she tried to. It was more like a fast stumble. But the adrenaline pumping through her body allowed her to keep going without falling.

Amy strained her ears for the sound of pursuit but she heard nothing. Maybe he was in fact just trying to help her... but she kept going nonetheless.

Eventually, she rounded a corner branching off to another alleyway and her legs just gave out underneath her.

Amy Pond landed flat on her face.

'Need a hand?' she heard a deep male voice say, inches away from her. Slowly, she lifted her head up to see a tall man in a long, black-woollen coat. Even with her slightly blurred vision, Amy could see he was attractive; with a pale complexion, thick black curls and cheekbones to die for.

The stranger extended his hand out to her and she instinctively took it, standing up shakily.

She managed to murmur out a small 'Thanks.' To the man who was looking at her in a way that most people looked at Amy Pond. As if she were a puzzle to be solved... a difficult puzzle, with well hidden secrets. But then, the way this man looked at her was slightly different... she felt like he was stripping her to the core just with his piercing, icy eyes.

The man let go of her hand, his eyes still darting up and down her body, before resting on her bleeding head.

'You're hurt.' He stated with a frown.

Amy rolled her eyes, despite herself. 'Thanks for that, but I kind of already noticed.'

The man blinked once and tilted his head to one side. 'I'm Sherlock... Sherlock Holmes.'

'Amy Pond... I think.' She managed a weak smile at him which he did not return.

'Well, Amy Pond, an attractive woman of your age, with a skirt that short, should definitely not be wandering a dark alley alone at three in the morning.' Sherlock said emotionlessly.

Amy stared at him, wide eyed. She was pretty sure he'd just called her 'attractive' but it was like the word had no meaning. Usually if a guy called her attractive he was trying to flirt with her... but this guy?

'I... I don't remember how I got here if I'm honest with you.' She muttered, closing her eyes.

Sherlock Holmes frowned and was silent for a moment before saying 'Come with me... my friend's a doctor; he can sort your head out.'

Taking a step back from him, she shook her head. 'No... I mean thank you but, I don't know you. You could be some sort of serial murderer for all I know.'

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock swiftly knocked her feet from under her and scooping her up in his arms, making Amy give a squeak of surprise.

'I can assure you Ms Pond; I am certainly not a serial murderer.'

Amy would have struggled, but her head was pounding and her eyes were starting to droop. Besides, she didn't actually think he was a serial murderer. In fact, her instincts were telling her that this was the right thing to do... that she should trust this tall, dark stranger. She vaguely registered the fact that he had started walking faster before she closed her eyes and lost consciousness.

**...**

_**Sherlock**_

_Dull._

That was the word that was repeatedly running through Sherlock Holmes' head. Why couldn't something interesting happen for once?

He hadn't had a case in nearly a week and it was starting to drive him to the brink of insanity.

Staying in the flat all the time did not help one bit so he'd decided to get some fresh air. He walked down the nearest alleyway to Baker Street hoping to see some assassin or other but of course, he wasn't that lucky.

Rounding a corner that branched off to another alleyway, he heard footsteps. He stopped walking and cocked his head to one side.

_A woman. Quite tall. Long legs. Trying to run but instead stumbling. Must be injured. Most likely a head injury. Coming this way._

Suddenly a tall red-headed woman flew round the corner, tripped over her own feet and landed flat on her face.

Sherlock looked down at her for a second before offering out his arm.

'Need a hand?' he asked, surprised by his own gentlemanly actions.

The woman lifted her head up slowly and took his outstretched hand. 'Thanks.' She murmured and stood up shakily. Letting go of her hand, Sherlock started his deductions, grateful for finally having something to do.

_She's about 25. Her first name begins with an A going by the necklace that she seemingly always wears. Scottish originally __but hasn't lived in Scotland for years, since she was a child, well before the age of accent acquisition has passed, but she's kept hers relatively strong. Now lives somewhere in England, a small, generally unknown town. Her shoes, relatively new but the soles are worn; she does a lot of running. There's a small indent of an engagement ring, last worn about a week ago. _

But that was it. That was all he could work out about this red-headed woman. He couldn't see why she was in London, or why she was wandering down an alley at 3 am. There was a certain look about her, almost like an aura, that made her seem interesting... like she was hiding something. And Sherlock Holmes wanted to find out what that something was.

His gaze moved up to find that he'd been right about the head injury and he frowned.

'You're hurt.' He stated.

'Thanks for that, but I kind of already noticed.' She rolled her eyes at him.

Sherlock was surprised... usually women would freak out if they had a huge gash in their head, or at least be constantly whining about it. So why wasn't she? Was she used to being hurt?

If he had to be honest with himself, Sherlock was loving this. She was a new, interesting puzzle to solve and he wanted to know every little thing about her. He wanted to know about that glint in her green eyes that told him she was hiding something.

He blinked once and tilted his head to the side.

'I'm Sherlock... Sherlock Holmes.' He introduced himself.

'Amy Pond... I think.' The woman smiled faintly at him.

Sherlock kept his tone and expression emotionless despite the excitement he was feeling at having something to work out. 'Well, Amy Pond, an attractive woman of your age, with a skirt that short, should definitely not be wandering a dark alley alone at three in the morning.'

Amy's eyes widened slightly before closing for a moment 'I... I don't remember how I got here if I'm honest with you.'

The detective frowned at that. That cut must be worse than he'd originally thought... if something didn't get done soon, he was pretty sure she would black out.

_John..._

'Come with me... my friend's a doctor; he can sort your head out.' Sherlock said suddenly.

Amy took a step back, shaking her head slowly 'No... I mean thank you but, I don't know you. You could be some sort of serial murderer for all I know.'

It took all of Sherlock's composure to stop him from laughing at that, even though her reasoning was valid from her point of view; to him the thought of it was hilarious.

Instead of laughing he managed to just roll his eyes. He walked a few steps closer to her, closing the distance between them and scooped her up in his arms. This was a precautionary measure as well as a time saver.

Amy gave out a small yelp of surprise but Sherlock spoke before she could say anything. 'I can assure you Ms Pond; I am certainly not a serial murderer.'

He started walking out of the alleyway and, noticing Amy's eyes drooping, he picked up the pace a bit. Finally her eyes closed completely and Sherlock knew that she had lost consciousness.

**So... what do you think? Should I continue this story or not? Please tell me in the reviews! Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again! First of all can I just say thank you so much to everyone who favourited and reviewed. I honestly was not expecting that much positive feedback from one little chapter. Secondly, this was so hard to write as I wrote it after the Pond's departure on Doctor Who. So here's the next chapter and it is dedicated to both of the Ponds for being so remarkable. You are sealed onto both of my hearts.**

'So...' John Watson tapped his fingertips lightly on the table. 'What exactly happened?'

Sherlock managed to roll his eyes, despite looking through a microscope. He knew exactly what John was thinking. His flatmate believed that he had some sort of 'attraction' to the young red-head lying on their sofa. However, the only 'attraction' he had to Amelia Pond was the fact that he found her intriguing.

While John had been clearing up the girl's cut, Sherlock had searched her jacket pockets and found a lipstick and her phone.

He spent some time examining the phone which was obviously broken as it said there was no signal when in fact; the reception in the flat was perfectly fine. He flicked through her contacts and then moved on to look at her texts. Going through her phone at least gave him a bit more information to go on.

_Her real name is Amelia but she prefers Amy. She is engaged to someone called Rory Williams who is clearly a medical man, training to be a doctor by the looks of it. There is a contact in her phone that is not a name... 'TARDIS'. Must be an acronym of some sort. But standing for what?_

'I've told you what happened, John.' Sherlock muttered, sounding bored. 'I found her in an alleyway and brought her here, simply because I knew you could tend to her head.'

John pursed his lips 'Then why didn't you just take her to the hospital?'

With a shrug, Sherlock replied 'The flat was closer.'

The army doctor sighed but left it there. He knew that there was something more... Sherlock's pupils had been dilated when he had carried the girl up the stairs to the flat. John had never seen that before. Although, Sherlock Holmes was obviously different to most men so that may simply mean that he finds her interesting. But he found Irene Adler interesting... maybe he really did find Amy attractive. Not that he could blame him, she was beautiful despite the blood and dirt that covered her body; you'd have to be blind not to see how beautiful she was.

John went over to the kitchen counter and put the kettle on. His eyes flickered over to Sherlock.

'Do you want tea?' He asked.

Sherlock hesitated a moment, his eyes not leaving the microscope. 'That's not tea.' He muttered.

John's eyes widened 'What do you mean it's not tea?

. . .

Amy Pond sat bolt upright making her head spin instantly but she didn't care. She remembered. She remembered everything.

Rory's voice echoed in her head. He was shouting her name, terrified.

Taking a deep breath, she managed to calm herself, making her heart rate slow down slightly. Then she remembered the cut on her head and her hand went up to see the damage... but it had been stitched back up. _What?_

Suddenly it came back to her. The alleyway. The tall, handsome man who said his friend was a doctor. How ironic.

She could hear two men talking in what must be the kitchen... something about... tea? Amy recognised one of the voices as the man in the alley, Sherlock, but the other she assumed was the doctor he had mentioned.

_I have to get out of here. I have to find the Doctor and Rory._

Slowly, Amy got up off the sofa and, as quietly as she could, started walking towards the door.

Her head was pounding furiously, demanding that she sit back down again and rest. But Amelia Pond was not the type of person to give in that easily.

'And just where do you think you're going?' she heard Sherlock's voice right behind her.

_Damn it._

Amy stopped walking and turned to face him but instantly her head started to spin and her legs gave in underneath her.

Sherlock Holmes, however, had quick enough reactions to catch her before she fell to the floor.

'You really shouldn't go outside yet,' he muttered, almost smugly 'you can barely stand never mind walk down the stairs.'

The red-head looked up at him and managed a scowl which just made him roll his eyes. Sherlock started to help her up but she shoved him away lightly.

'I'm fine.' She muttered, not liking the fact that she was injured and in a house with two strange men. Carefully, she stood up without any help and then noticed the other man standing next to Sherlock.

He smiled warmly at her 'Hi, I'm John Watson... I sorted out your head for you but Sherlock is right; you can't leave yet. You need some rest.'

John offered out his hand to her which she took, and let him lead her back to the sofa. Sitting down she looked up at the two men and John came over to sit next to her, examining her head again. Subconsciously, she moved closer to him; she decided she liked John... he wasn't cocky like Sherlock was and he seemed genuine.

But still, she didn't like this whole thing one bit. She didn't know who the hell they were or where she was. Her eyes locked with Sherlock's for a moment and found him smirking again.

'I know what you're thinking, Ms Pond.' He said 'But once again, I assure you that we have no plans to hurt you. We are not murderers or rapists, in fact we are the complete opposite.'

Frowning, Amy replied 'What are you then, the police or something?'

She thought she caught a glimpse of John sighing before Sherlock said to her 'Consulting detective, only one in the world. I invented the job.'

Amy could tell that he said this a lot and in a way that was almost bragging. But she surprised Sherlock by bursting out laughing when he said it.

'You invented your job?!' she managed between laughs 'that's hilarious!'

The consulting detective scowled at her and gave her a quick look up and down.

'You can hardly laugh at my profession Ms Pond, considering what you used to do.'

That shut her right up and she blushed deep scarlet. 'W-what did you say?'

Sherlock Holmes smirked 'You're practically sitting in John's lap! Obviously you're used to, and fine with, being in people's personal space, especially men's... so what was it then? Street walker? Stripper?'

Amy's embarrassment had turned into anger. Who was he to have a go at her job?! It was just a laugh!

'For your information I was a kissogram!' she glared at him.

That only made Sherlock's smirk widen. He picked up his violin bow and started twirling it in his hands. 'A stripper, exactly.'

Amelia Pond grit her teeth and narrowed her eyes at the man. It wasn't so much the fact that he was having a go at her job now, it was that he could say it in such a way that it sounded insulting. He was making her feel tiny and pathetic. He was making her feel like an idiot.

_Please come for me Doctor... please._

**I am pleased to say that I do have a sort of plan for this and I'm not totally winging it. In the next chapter you'll actually discover what happened to Amy and how she ended up in Sherlock's dimension... please review. Thanks for reading! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again! Wow. That is all I can say. I have had such positive feedback from this story and I actually love you all for reading my nonsense! Oh wow. Okay... well this is a flashback chapter and it (sort of) explains how Amy ended up in Sherlock's world... sort of. So... here goes nothing.**

_**Flashback**_

'Doctor... what's that?'

Rory Williams frowned as he surveyed the inside of the TARDIS for the cause of the strange buzzing noise that had been progressing throughout the night.

'Hm? What? Oh... probably nothing.' The Doctor responded, just as a spark came from the consol. 'Well... I say nothing. It might be something... I don't know.'

Moving towards the consol, the Doctor smiled as Amy Pond walked up the steps and into the main control room, wiping sleep from her eyes.

'Did you sleep well?' he asked her cheerily and she replied with a weak groan.

Rory walked over to her, protective mode on. 'What's up?' he asked her gently.

Rory bloody Williams. God she loved him. Even if he was slightly over the top with the protectiveness.

Rolling her eyes she said 'Oh stop fretting, stupid-face. I'm fine! Just this weird buzzing noise, keeping me up!'

She looked pointedly at the Doctor, who was now frowning as he stared at the screen.

He was beginning to think it was faulty. The readings that it was giving him were just insane! Apparently, there had been a huge spike in Artron energy overnight... but that couldn't be possible. Scanning through the data quickly, his eyes suddenly widened as he saw where the energy was converging.

Amy.

The red-headed Scott was leaning sleepily on Rory's shoulder as the Doctor looked up at her and she frowned at his expression.

'What? What is it?' She asked, straightening and walking a few steps towards him.

'Amelia...'

She froze.

Oh no... that was never good. He only ever called her that when he was worried. VERY worried.

She was about to say something when suddenly the buzzing noise got louder. And louder. And LOUDER. AND LOUDER.

Too loud now. Much, much too loud. Rory and Amy clapped their hands over their ears as the Doctor skipped frantically around the consol, trying to fix whatever the hell was happening.

Just when they thought the buzzing couldn't get any worse, a new noise filled their ears. An extremely high-pitched whining.

Amy Pond hadn't realised that she was now crouching on the floor, because her eyes were squeezed shut. She wasn't aware of anything anymore. Just this horrible, horrible noise. Going on and on and it wasn't dying down and it wasn't stopping. On and on and on.

"AMY!"

Through the noise and the headache and the sound of the frantic beat of her heart, Amy heard her name.

Rory.

He was screaming her name. And he kept screaming her name. She wanted to reply but she couldn't. She couldn't move.

Amy! Amy! Amy! Amy!

Strange now, like it was stuck on repeat. Amy! Amy! Amy!

Her head was burning. Hotter and hotter and hotter.

But she was paralysed. Unable to do anything about it. She wanted to smash the TARDIS up into a million little pieces; anything to stop the pain in her head. Anything... anything.

But she was paralysed. Unable to do anything about it.

Then... everything seemed to stop.

Her name on repeat, the buzzing, the high-pitched whining... stopped.

And she was falling. Falling. Falling.

Falling /where/? What the hell was happening?!

But she was still paralysed. Unable to do anything about it. Unable to open her eyes or scream. Unable to cling on to something. Stop herself from falling.

But... falling /where/? What the hell was happening?!

**Hell, I bet y'all are confused. Mwhahaha. But please stick with it! I love you all for reading this, I really do. I am so sorry I haven't updated this in a while but I am planning on doing a chapter every other week now. However, if you all review, I promise I shall post the next chapter ASAP because you inspire me! Thank you for reading XD**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello! Yes. I know. I didn't update very quickly and I am sorry. But with Christmas and New Year, I've been very busy. Anyway, this chapter is short but it gives you a little snippet of what is happening in Sherlock's head. Thank you, once again, for reading and please, please, PLEASE leave me a review. **

One... Two... Three. One... Two... Three. One... Two... Three. One... Two... Three. One... Two... Three. One... Two... Three.

Sherlock Holmes was sat, plucking his violin. The same three notes. Over and over and over. He was lost deep in his thoughts. And his thoughts... were all about Amelia.

Amelia Pond.

The ginger Scott had fallen asleep on the sofa again, after much encouragement from John. Sherlock was sat in his armchair. Watching her. Watching the steady rise and fall of her chest as she slept. It felt... odd. Because she looked so... defenceless when she was sleeping. All that Scottish feistiness that she usually had was not there. She was just... a girl. A helpless, injured girl. And it made Sherlock feel slightly sick. His eyes moved over her body and rested on the VERY short skirt she was wearing. If he hadn't ran into her in the alley... who knows what could have happened.

_No, Sherlock. Stop it. _

He kept repeating those words inside his head. Because why should he care? Why should he care what happens to her? It was her own stupid fault for wearing a skirt that short. He wouldn't care if it were any other girl. So why her? What made her so special? Nothing.

_Nothing._

But his mind kept trailing back to when she first woke up in the flat. He noticed straight away, of course, and had stood up and moved to the door that connected the kitchen to the living room. But he stopped before he walked in. Because... the look on her face. Panic. Fear. Desperation.

To anyone else, Sherlock supposed it would have looked like she'd had a really terrible nightmare. But he knew better.

No. She had remembered something. Something important... something... something... that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

_WHY IS SHE SO DIFFICULT TO FIGURE OUT?!_

That was what made her special.

At least in Sherlock Holmes' eyes.

There were not many people that he struggled to read. He could read his flatmate like an open book. But this girl. There was something about her. Something different. Something new.

And he liked it.

_Conclusion: I care about what may have happened because it would be such a shame not to have a new puzzle to work out._

Yes. That was his conclusion. So... why did he still not feel satisfied? It was like there was something else involved. Something important... something... something... that he just COULDN'T put his finger on.

_Feelings? No. No. Delete that. But she... No. No... Certainly not. *Deleted*_

Sherlock sighed and finally stopped plucking his violin, resting it on the arm of the chair.

When Amelia Pond woke up, he would get the truth out of her. Once and for all. Not knowing was not an option. How could he help her if he did not know her situation?

_HELP?! No. No. Delete that! *Deleted*_

He needed to know, because not knowing was not an option. And that was the only reason. Once he knew, he would send her on her way. Yes. That would work. Once he had worked her out, she would become boring to him. She would be of no use to him at all... right?

**Well there you go. Another chapter. I literally have the whole story inside my head but it is just so hard to put it on paper... so to speak. Where I have the creativity, I struggle with the actual writing part. **

**Oh, and I just want to say a special thank you to those who said that I keep Amy and Sherlock in character. It really does mean a lot to me and I do try to keep them as canon as possible.**

**Thank you and please keep up the reviews! x**


	5. Chapter 5

**Yes, I know. I have taken ages to update again. But that's just me. Unorganised and one of the biggest procrastinators on the planet. But I finally got round to writing the fifth chapter of this Pondlock story, after fighting through much writer's block. **

**Now a couple of people asked questions in the reviews, so here are the answers:**

**- No. Being a Kissogram does not require stripping. But sometimes... neither does being a stripper. I know. The world's weird so hey.**

**- This is set before Demons Run. Actually it's set between Amy's Choice and The Hungry Earth. Just after Amy realises she loves Rory and just before he... dies... and gets erased from existence. **

**But yes, apart from that... THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS. I actually cannot believe I have got 50 reviews on this with only 4 chapters. That's mental. Thank you so much. **

**And please keep up the reviewing. Honestly, reviews inspire me and keep me motivated.**

**But enough of my blabbering on... enjoy chapter 5!**

Amy Pond's eyes fluttered open. And for a second... just for a second... she thought everything was normal. She thought that she was in the TARDIS. She thought that she'd fallen asleep on that bloody ridiculous bunk bed. She thought that Rory would be waiting for her. She thought that he would have made her a cup of tea, like he always did on a morning. She thought everything was fine.

But then she realised that she was wrong.

She was not in the TARDIS. She was in a stranger's flat in London. She had no clue where the Doctor and Rory were. She did not know what the hell was going on.

Nothing was fine.

Amy scrunched up her eyes as if wishing herself back to the TARDIS. To the Doctor. To her fiancé. To her Rory.

But it didn't work. Obviously.

With a sigh, she sat herself up and glanced around the living room of this strange flat. When she woke up before, she didn't really take the time to look at her surroundings. She had been too busy trying to get the hell out of there. But now that she looked properly... what she saw intrigued her.

It was a right mess to start with. Books everywhere. Files just lying on the floor. It was just chaos. But it was like... organised chaos.

What did he say he was again? A consulting detective? A consulting detective. She still couldn't believe he actually invented his own job. How ridiculous.

She found herself wondering if he got paid for doing it. Because he had a nice enough flat, beneath all the files and books. And he dressed nicely. Very nicely. Perhaps his family was just rich?

She didn't know.

What really did catch Amy's attention about the flat was the skull lying on the mantelpiece.

A skull. A... skull. Why a skull?

It was fascinating really, in Amy's mind. Or perhaps it was that... /he/ was fascinating in Amy's mind. She wasn't quite sure.

This man had just come out of nowhere and brought her back to his flat. To... help her. But she just could not make her mind up about him. He was cocky and arrogant, yes. But why would he have helped her if he wasn't a... good man.

She just didn't know. And she didn't like not knowing.

Now that she was thinking about it... she noticed that the flat was rather quiet. Completely quiet, in fact.

She couldn't hear talking or arguing or anything at all really.

Where was everyone?

With a frown, Amy stood herself up and cautiously walked to what she supposed was the kitchen.

And what she found in there just fascinated her even more.

There were experiments... /everywhere/.

Test tubes of this and that and a microscope sitting on the kitchen table with a slide already in it. It was a complete mess. But it was like... an organised mess.

Completely intrigued, Amy made her way over to one of the test tubes and was about to pick it up when something caught her eye.

A note.

Written in neat handwriting were the words:

"We are out on a case. Our landlady is downstairs. Do not touch my experiments. Do not touch my skull. Do not touch my violin. Be careful when going in the fridge. – SH"

Amy read the note about five times before finally putting it back down.

This man was rather to the point, wasn't he? Anyone else would say 'please' and 'thank you' and 'help yourself to any food or drink'. But, oh no. Not Sherlock Holmes. His note sounded more like orders than anything else.

A small smirk crossed her lips as she considered disobeying these 'orders'. But she decided against it. After all, he had not actually done anything wrong. He may have been an arrogant and pompous arse... but he had still helped her. If he had not found her in that alleyway... who knows what could have happened.

_No, Amy. Stop it. Don't think like that._

Scanning the note again quickly, her eyes lingered on the initials.

SH.

Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes. Consulting Detective.

It had a nice ring to it. And it suited him. All dark and mysterious and... handsome.

_HANDSOME?! _

Amy mentally shook herself. She did not find him attractive. She could not find him attractive. He was an arse and that was all... but an arse with /very/ nice cheekbones.

_AMY. STOP._

But she couldn't stop. She found herself picturing him in her mind. And thinking about how much he fascinated her.

Everything about him just screamed interesting and exciting and dangerous.

Everything about him... Amy found herself liking.

Except the whole part about him being an arse. That was not very attractive.

_Amelia Pond. Sherlock Holmes is not attractive. He is not attractive. You do not find him attractive. Just stop looking at the note and concentrate on finding the Doctor and Rory._

The thing was... no one had ever been attractive to her after she realised that she was in love with Rory. After the Dream Lord and watching him turn into dust and killing herself and the Doctor just because it might make him come back to her. And it did. And she'd never even glanced another man's way since.

Until now.

She had to leave. She had to leave before she did something she would regret. So she planned it out in her head... when they came back, she would say thank you to them and then be on her way. Because then everything would be okay. Then she would never have these thoughts again... right?

**Short, I know. But I figured because you got a look inside Sherlock's head then you should see what Amy is thinking too. The story is really going to kick off in the next few chapters and the game... shall truly be on.**

**Thank you once again for reading, you wonderful lot. Please leave me a review in that lovely blank box. It's just waiting for your words. Or even just word. I like to know that people have not lost faith in this story.**

**THANK YOU!**

**Scarlett x**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello! I am very sorry that I have not written this in so long, my life has been rather hectic lately. I do hope that you haven't given up on this story because I promise that I am still writing it! I wanted to do something a little different with chapter so I wrote it in the style of John's blog. Please let me know what you think in the reviews. Thank you for reading, my precious people! xxx**

**. . .**

**The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson**

**13****th**** March**

**Mystery Girl**

I often ask myself whether or not Sherlock Holmes could ever possibly find love. I thought that he was in love with Irene Adler. But the way that he looks at this girl... it's different.

Okay, so the story goes that Sherlock was bored and so decided to go wandering up and down the allies of London, I suppose hoping to find something of interest. And that he did. He found a young girl named Amy (around the age of 25) stumbling along down the alley. Very Pretty and very ginger. She had a head injury and had absolutely no clue how on earth she got where she was. The thing is, Sherlock seems to find her intriguing. He looks at her in a similar way to the way he looks when he's on an in particularly interesting case. Excited. It's like she's something to solve. And I'm betting that he's not going to stop until he's solved her. Could this be Sherlock's version of fancying someone? Who knows! I suppose that all shall be revealed.

**3 COMMENTS**

'Very ginger'. Your adjectives continue to astound me. – _Sherlock Holmes_

Well, she IS very ginger, haven't you noticed? – _John Watson_

Of course I noticed, John. I notice everything. Ginger is not the first word that I would use to describe her. – _Sherlock Holmes_

Oh? And what would the first word be, Sherlock? ;) – _John Watson_

. . .

**14****th**** March **

**Fairytale mysteries**

The plot thickens as Sherlock's attention is torn away from the redheaded Scot when a very intriguing yet rather terrible case rears its head.

It all began with two missing children. They were not from a very wealthy family and it was not by request that Sherlock chose to take this case. It was the way in which they were taken and the clues that were left behind that intrigued him so much. The two little twins (both aged 7), one boy and one girl, were taken from their beds in the dead of night without a sound. And all that was left in their place... was a trail of breadcrumbs. These breadcrumbs led to the nearby woods.

Those poor children. By the time the police reached them, it was already too late. They were found leaning against an abandoned cottage in the middle of the woods, dressed in clothes that looked like they were from the Middle Ages. But they were just so perfect. They could almost have been sleeping. The poison used was clearly some form of injected compound used to paralyse and, if the dosage is high, induce death.

Hansel and Grettle.

The two lost children.

When Sherlock and I visited the crime scene he managed to find something that none of the forensic team had. A tiny note. It was so small that it was easily hidden in the bobble of the little girl's pigtail.

Written in scrawled writing were the words:

'Escape is what children need. Just follow the second star on the right and straight on till morning.'

Peter Pan. Escape to Neverland, where children never grow old.

This case has really piqued Sherlock's interest. He's at St Barts at the moment testing different blood samples from the children, no doubt working things out at his usual incredibly fast pace.

I hope that, once this case is finished, Sherlock might spend some time with that Amy girl. It might do him some good... and you never know... something might happen. Will be keeping you posted, readers ;)

**7 COMMENTS**

Utterly tedious, John. I don't know why you spend your time writing this rubbish. – _Sherlock Holmes_

It's not rubbish and people are interested. –_ John Watson_

People are tedious. – _Sherlock Holmes_

Get back to the case, Sherlock. – _John Watson_

Why did you have to mention her? –_ Sherlock Holmes_

Like I said, people are interested ;) – _John Watson_

John, I shall fetch my own revolver and I shall shoot you with it myself if you do not stop being so immature. – _Sherlock Holmes_

**. . .**

**Again, thank you so much for reading and reviews are VERY appreciated. **


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